Images
by Magical Shovel
Summary: A surge of images is the equivalent to a surge of memories. Chaos with fondness and pain... Drabbles that pertain to Charles Bromley. An attempt to dig into the 100 prompt challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Images**

_A surge of images is the equivalent to a surge of memories. Chaos with fondness and pain._

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own Bromley, Alison, Dalton, or any other characters from _Daybreakers_. I make no profit from this fanfic.

**A/N: **For once, I decided to do something different. I got back in the writing mood. Thus, I decided to pursue the 100 Prompt Challenge (or one of them, at least). It's been a while and I just want to thank you, my readers, for all the favorites and follows!

* * *

><p><strong>1. Immortal<strong>

Golden hues peered at the young soldier. In that moment of silence, Charles Bromley lifted his leg. His charcoal shoe made a light thud on his desk. Bromley clamped his pale hands onto his clothed knee. He pursed his lips, carefully contemplating his words. A thin smirk wavered onto his lips.

"You know, son… Immortality is the miracle and we are blessed."

His fangs peeked out, asserting his opinion.

**22. Wine**

The crimson fluid swirled in the glistening glass. He held it up towards the fluorescent lights. The liquid traveled back and forth, staining the sides of the glass.

He pressed the chalice to his lips, savoring the decadent taste.

**67. Lipstick**

Cerulean eyes peered humorously at his young daughter.

Red smeared her lips and mascara bled down her cheeks.

A grimace curved into a smile, followed by low laughter. The businessman approached his daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Alison," he said whilst shaking his head.

Confusion flooded her features.

"I wanna be like Mommy."

**78. Turning Point**

It wasn't his wife's death, but his own that became the turning point.

As soon as the doctor diagnosed his condition, Bromley knew that everything was heading for the worst.

What was he to say to Alison?

His illness was so rare that the doctors had no cure. For now, Bromley would have to hide his condition and put on a palpable ruse. Surely, there was a suitable cure. He would become hell bent on finding it for the sake of his daughter.

**79. Mercy**

Edward begged him for salvation. It was pitiful. Disgust flashed through his animalistic, corrupted eyes. He sneered at the hematologist. The man was a coward in the truest sense. Once departing the realm of immortality, Edward wanted nothing more than to return to it.

Bromley clamped his hands behind his back, circling Dalton and the human female. It was similar to a shark closing in on its prey.

Instead of mercy, Edward would get hell to pay upon returning to vampirism.

**93. Abducted**

Upon his rebirth, he witnessed the disgust and horror in his daughter's eyes. Pain flashed over his face. Bromley had assumed that Alison would be ecstatic that he was still alive and still there for her.

Not now.

Retuning home from an evening of work, Bromley knew that something was awry.

"Alison," he called out warily.

No response.

He carefully treaded across kitchen tile.

"Alison!" Bromley cried.

Again, no response.

In a frantic search, he tore apart the house. A lock of hair fell over his brow in response to the disarray.

If his heart still beat, it would come to a halt.

_Was Alison taken?_

Bromley dreaded the thought. It wasn't until he saw the crumpled note that told him otherwise.

**27. Cheating**

Charles Bromley cheated death.

It was as simple as that.

One day he was dying and the next he wasn't.

He received an offer that he couldn't refuse: Immortality.

Naturally, it was in the guise of a virus. Bromley didn't care. He anticipated it as a cure.

**20. Stare**

Lightning crackled and thunder clapped. The rain fell in heavy torrents. It was reminiscent of a hose without an off switch. Water rolled down the thick, glass windows.

The corporate vampire wasn't expecting a meeting for quite some time.

He listened to the music of nature with a dreary sigh. He rose from his throne. The leather chair squeaked in protest. Designer shoes clicked across tile.

Bromley stared out the window, entranced.

The reflection of his suit stared back.

**23. Searching**

He never gave up.

That was the one thing she needed to know.

No matter how much of a monster her father became.

He was always determined to find her, even if that meant sending out the troops.

Bromley even once risked going out to look for her himself. Calling out her name was to no avail. A ghastly scream sounded off in the nearby distance. A degenerated subsider headed straight for him.

Ducking into his car, he sped off.

He continued his search elsewhere.

**91. Butterflies**

"Aren't they beautiful?" She inquired in a hushed tone that was full of awe.

"Quite," Charles replied as he leaned on the railing.

A monarch butterfly landed on a daisy. It's antennae wiggled to and fro as its wings came to a halt.

"I'm glad you took the day off, Charlie," she said. A bright smile remained on her nimble face.

Charles wrapped an arm around his wife in response.

Together, they watched the butterflies.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for the reads/reviews! I know it's been a long time since I've updated this. I'm sorry about that. I've been busy. =w=; I vow to finish this, though! I will do one hundred prompts. / Anywhosel, I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

><p><strong>6. Over<strong>

Golden eyes widened as he doubled over, choking and coughing. A terrible ache surged through his body. The pain felt similar to when he first made the step towards immortality. He gagged, clutching the table for support. Through the midst of pain, he seethed.

How dare _he _be fooled?

Had he not been weakened, he would've killed Dalton on spot.

Unfortunately, he couldn't as he was secured to throne of a chair. Gold dissolved into natural cerulean. Thrust into the elevator, Bromley headed towards his demise.

**39. Coffee Break**

"Coffee?" The female assistant inquired with a simple gesture.

Bromley nodded.

"Do you have a preference as to the type?"

"Type O Positive would be lovely," he murmured whilst scanning his paperwork.

**52. Pills**

He swallowed the cocktail of pills with distaste. They were always chalky no matter what liquid he drained them with.

He ran a calloused hand over his weathered features. A deep sigh rumbled from the depths of his chest. Discoloration hung underneath his eyes.

One of these pills would have to work eventually.

He made a vow that he wouldn't abandon Alison.

**57. Power**

Power came in the form of a corporate suit. He felt like a king rather than a mere vampire. He played the game of God.

He was in charge of the blood banks. He controlled the fluctuation (or lack thereof) of that crimson substance.

It would all come down to a price.

Power always crumbled within.

**8. White Noise**

He walked into his lovely abode, much like a panther. Shoulders lowered and raised as he made his descent down the dark corridor. Glistening boots clicked against the simplistic wood. The CEO dipped his hand into the collar of his shirt, effectively loosening his tie.

Thunder clapped.

He ignored the harsh noise.

Bromley prowled his domain as he surely was king. After 'settling down', his shoes had been kicked off. His blazer was draped over the dark futon. He turned on the television, wine glass in hand. Static jolted on the television. Hues of black, sprinkled with white, crackled and snapped. Snow. White noise.

Bromley zoned out. The noise was not too soothing as it brought back one too many memories.

Alison screaming.

Alison sobbing.

Alison arguing.

Alison burning.

**37. Lonely Road**

Pale hands gripped the steering wheel of his sleek Jaguar. The sky was perfectly clear for once. No clouds, no stars. The moon, too, seemed to be hidden from Bromley's golden gaze. The corner of his lip curled, resembling something of a snarl.

Even the road was empty as no cars tailgated or sped by.

The monotony sent him into a trance-like state. He paid little head to the lithe figured that were about to scurry across the road. A female face turned to look at the car. Her gaze fixated on the driver's side.

Bromley skid to a halt, holding nonexistent breath.

He would let the humans live.

All because she bared resemblance to _her._

**50. Played for a fool**

Charles Bromley despised betrayal. It was the ugliest trait of humankind. It was slimy and crafty (similar to himself). The simple act of betrayal brought out the worst in the vampire. Alison's death had proved such. _Her damned resilience- Just like her mother. Until the very end…_

So, why should he be fooled again?

Rather… Why _was_ he betrayed for the third time?

As cliché as it was: elementary. The way Dalton begged for vampirism was damn near pathetic as his human concubine bled. It brought a sneer upon Bromley's face even as his shoulders hunched in a predatory stance.

It was the humanity in Dalton's eyes.

Humanity in Alison's eyes.

That was what drove him to sink his fangs deep into the nape of Dalton's neck. The new, live blood coursing through his veins served as atonement.

**56. Wealth**

"I'll buy you anything, Allie. _Sweetheart_-" His voice was desperate, shaky.

Charles' hands clamped together in a desperate attempt to hide the pill bottle.

"I don't need that, Dad," Alison spoke softly. She didn't look at his hands. She already knew the truth that lurked within his frantic, cerulean eyes.

"Oh, Sweetheart. If only I could buy us more time…" He began before his body gave out to a brutal coughing fit.

**90. Marzipan**

"Why don't we try this, Dear?" Her perfectly manicured nail pointed at the bold word.

"Marzipan Tart?" Charles inquired with a lift of his brow.

She nodded with an equally perfect smile.

"And if we share, does that mean you'll marry me?" He asked with a coy grin.

**74. Spatula**

Under no circumstance, could Charles Bromley cook. It was a known fact of life as he slid the spatula into the pan. He flipped the pancake, only to have it stick to the ceiling. Complete and utter confusion filled his face. To top it all off, the plastic of the spatula began to melt. He repressed a groan.

His daughter watched with wide, brown eyes. She looked at her father before looking at the ceiling. Once more, she looked at him and back to the pancakes on the ceiling.

"You tried, Daddy."

He sighed, running a hand through his ruffled locks.

"But can we go to iHop?" Alison asked.


End file.
